


Softer Than It Looks

by Tierfal



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Gen Fic, Humor, Kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/pseuds/Tierfal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al will be getting the groceries <i>for the rest of eternity</i>.</p><p>[Compatible with either 'verse.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softer Than It Looks

**Author's Note:**

> For Powdered_Opium, for the prompt "a stray kitten". I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW HAPPY I AM THAT THERE IS A TAG FOR "KITTENS" HERE.

A spunky little gold fuzzhead is severely trying Ed’s patience.

He would get a knowing look from Al for that—that much is certain, although whether the import would be _You should feel some solidarity with spunky little fuzzheads_ or _What patience is that, Brother?_ is a toss-up. In either case, it is unbelievably unfair that Al can convey so much with a pointed look when he _doesn’t have any eyes_.

“I mean it, you mangy little fleabag,” Ed says.

The kitten blinks up at him and meows loudly.

“Stop following me,” Ed says, trying to sound as menacing as possible. “I’ve had enough of that from the mass-murderers and the inhuman monsters; I’m not putting up with it from a plague-carrier, too.”

The kitten stares at him and then meows again, even louder.

“Shut up!” Ed says. “The good people of this town are trying to get some rest, and here you are, yowling the night away. Al’s getting the groceries next time, I’ll tell you that.”

He’s never seen a kitten pout before.

Frowning back, he crouches down and points his left finger in its admittedly fairly adorable face.

“Look,” he says, “I don’t have any cat food, and I’m not in a position to babysit. Sorry. Okay? Now go—”

The kitten pushes its head at his palm and purrs.

“Wh—you—” Ed twists his hand away, but the kitten rubs its head at his wrist instead. It’s a warm little fur-bucket, and softer than it looks.

“Damn it,” Ed says. He pets it a couple times and scratches behind its oversized ears. It makes a happy mewing noise, but this close, he can feel that it’s shivering. “ _Damn_ it,” he says.

 

 

“Did you find everything you—”

Al stops when he sees the cat perched on Ed’s right shoulder, swaying slightly with his stride. The kitten’s such a proud surveyor of his territory—and such a vocal commentator on what he surveys—that Ed is considering calling him Mustang.

“Ah,” Al says, and Ed can tell that he’s smirking even though he _doesn’t have a moving mouth_.

“Shut up,” Ed says. “It’s going to rain.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Al says.

“You don’t have to,” Ed mutters. As he deposits the groceries on the table in their room, Mustang kneads at the edge of his skin near the automail and noses at his neck. “Don’t you get smart with me, whisker-face,” he says, “or you’re going right back out there.”

“You would never do that, Brother,” Al says warmly. It’s true, first of all; and more than that, it’s just kind of amazing that Al can be so profoundly loving when he doesn’t have a heart.


End file.
